


Rain Will Make the Flowers Grow

by vanfeefee19



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Depression, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Statetalia (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 08:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanfeefee19/pseuds/vanfeefee19
Summary: Just a regular day in the Big Apple for Will.





	Rain Will Make the Flowers Grow

The soft pitter-patter of rain upon the sidewalk was an unwelcomed noise. 

The New Yorkers around Will swiftly opened small umbrellas as the rain begain to fall heavier. Too caught up in their own minds to let the precipitation linger in their thoughts for too long, they kept moving. Out of the touristy theater district and towards their homes, or came in to watch that afternoon's matinee of Ain't Too Proud. Everyone in that city had a place to go and to be. 

Where was his place? In the restaurants with families laughing about some mundane event, or perhaps in the hundreds of stores littering the streets where people funded his economy and consequently his health. None of these were his places. He didn't feel at home in the back alleys where people hid knives, or in the parks that held the few splotches of green in the vast concrete jungle. This wasn't where he should be. 

So he sat. He sat in the middle of Times Square, and waited. Waited for something to happen, something to drive away the voices in his head that ate at him over and over. 

He waited so long that the sky turned as black as a city's sky can, and the billboard lights brightened. The glares from passing cars' headlights reminded him he needes to go home and find his contacts, or go and get more, but none of it stirred him. None of it gave him the energy, the motivation, the strength he needed to pull himself out of that chair. 

At this point he was soaked, and stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd; a hard feat to beat in this part of the world. Parents ushered their children past him, cameras flashed quick lights as passers-by took a photo of him to laught at later. All of it hurt. It reminded him of that screaming voice in his head, and it hurt.   
He had tried so hard to fight it, but he was out of fight as the movements around him blended into nothing, and everything collapsed. 

He had tried so hard to fight it, but he was out of fight as the movements around him blended into nothing, and everything collapsed. 

Everything he had bene trying to fight away rushed into his mind. The wars. The fighting. The screaming. Every person who had died at the fault of him. Every life lost because of the people in charge of him. It might not have been through bullets, but it could have been through something as simple as being born before the world was ready for them to truly live. It all fell on him and he couldn't breathe anymore. 

He was breaking. He was breaking and nobody was around to help. Not Alfred, not Matthew, not Del, and not Tex. Nobody was there. He was alone, like he always ended up being. Will couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe and-

Laughter pierced through the static inside him. He looked up across the seating area, and a group of students were dancing around in the rain. One was standing with their arms outstretched, and their mouth open to the sky. They looked at peace. 

It grounded him, and Will took a breath. He was ok. He could do this. He was strong enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I made this as a vent fic for myself. I went to NYC over the weekend with my school chorus, and it made me realize some stuff about myself. That, coupled with me accidentally finding art someone did of Will ages ago may have resparked my energy for my ocs.


End file.
